


Lost Names

by quiteanerdling



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/M, Tal-Vashoth, The Qun, Viddathari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteanerdling/pseuds/quiteanerdling
Summary: The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.- The Soul Canto





	Lost Names

They send him a tallis - an elf, skin brown as teak, moon pale eyes, and hair as white as any Qunari. She smells of pomegranate and the clinging, almond sweetness of poison. She kills with an efficiency and elegance that Hissrad can admire. They call her Qamek and she shrugs, smiling as if it doesn't much matter. Unlike many viddathari she does not seem concerned with names. “I lost my first one too long ago to care.” She says, when Tallis, the first tallis, asks her about it.

He notices the reactions in others before himself, which isn't that strange - always easier to see out than in, even with his training. She is fairly tall for an elf but still dwarfed by the Qunari. Yet when she stands with the others they slouch, as if instead of her being short, they are too tall. They curve toward her like flowers following a lost sun. He does it himself and then laughs when he notices. He straightens up to full height and throws back his shoulders; she winks at him.

She is good with languages. A mimic like the bright birds in the jungle that make silence a necessity above all. Her Qunlat is far better than most viddathari who are not born of the Qun. She helps the others with their Common, and will trade curse words in many languages, the filthier the better. Her Tevene is good enough to make her valuable for reconnaissance - a cloth wrapped around her hair and she can blend with the servants and slaves. She kills best concealed in plain sight.

Her fingers are nimble and she is not body shy. She will happily rub balm into horns and oil into hair in return for thick fingers working the tension from her back and legs. Bull notes the scars, the stiffness in her left shoulder, weak spots to be protected or exploited when needed. She learns some of the complicated braid patterns from Beres, and becomes sought after for the tightness and clean lines of her braids. She laughs regretfully when Beres tries and fails to braid her own pale locks. Qamek’s hair is too fine, the strands refusing to hold no matter how hard they are pulled and firmly they are plaited. She gasps and tears well in her eyes when her hair is pulled too hard, eventually begging for mercy from determined fingers. Tender headed but they forgive her for it.

When they fuck for the first time he pulls her hair, and there is the gasp he heard, the tears in her eyes. She bucks harder against him and bites him in retaliation. They have removed only enough armor to give access to a few sensitive places, their skin flecked with Tal-Vashoth blood. He buries his face in her skin, breathing in the fruit and poison scent of her to block the smell of blood and burning. He licks salt from her skin to counteract the taste of ash in his mouth. He pulls gasps and moans from her to block out the screams that will not leave his ears.

She is reassigned and there is disappointment in the kith. Gatt takes her place, is a worthy successor but no one hunches when he stands close.

Hissrad is buried deep beneath the fat and laughter of The Iron Bull when he sees her again on a beach in the Storm Coast. New scars, a face full of tattoos, but the moon pale eyes and teak skin are the same. She still smells of fruit and poison, even in the rain. The tallis is gone, replaced by a Dalish huntress chosen by a foreign prophet as Herald. Par Vollen must know, yet it wasn't in his reports. The viddathari were never as closely watched as his own race, they did not always descend to madness without the Qun. Dust Lavellan does not speak of Qamek, and The Iron Bull does not speak of Hissrad. He decides that Par Vollen must know, and in his reports she is the Herald, and then the Inquisitor, never anything else.

The test of loyalty seems foregone in hindsight - his mistake was thinking the test was for her and not for him. Gatt knows of her, Bull can see that, but he gives little else away other than simmering resentment toward Dorian. A clever distraction that - he wonders if Gatt realizes how Lavellan is playing him. He is still admiring it when the world turns upside down and he becomes Tal-Vashoth on the rainy coast.

When they make love for the first time he fists his hands in her pale hair. Her gasps and moans drive away the sound of explosions and rain. Her scent suppresses the memory of gaatlok and salt water. The taste of her skin is salty as his own tears, driving away the flavor of ash on his tongue.

He calls her kadan and she smiles, pleased to accept a new name, the older ones lost.

**Author's Note:**

> This was another piece I basically woke up with, fully formed in my head. I wrote it in one sitting on my phone and then posted it to Tumblr. Oddly, it's still one of my favorite short pieces of writing I've ever produced.


End file.
